


fewer or more colors

by JenLi



Series: Selection OC 6 [10]
Category: Selection OC
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26014996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenLi/pseuds/JenLi
Summary: Challenge 5 Side RP - Paint
Relationships: Jen Li/Arin Schreave
Series: Selection OC 6 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742209
Kudos: 1





	fewer or more colors

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome back. This one took three weeks for no fucking reason, and I'm glad she's done. This is the infamous "paint." Excited to make your acquaintance. She is the first of a few in her series. For those who have read the ball, this takes place before that. A bitch didn't have time. Alright, bye.
> 
> Also, NSFE warning, but I'd say it's low PG-13
> 
> TW: References to sexual assault and some other abusive manipulations

On a Sunday afternoon, Jen decided for sure she wasn’t going back to Yale.

Two days later, she’d already spent hours poring over other schools and weighing her options. Yale may have been the best school in the country, but that didn’t mean she would get into all or any of her choices. Ivy leagues tended to take a record low amount of transfers, especially in law programs. Admissions were always a toss-up, but she hoped that her newly-acquired Selected status would be beneficial for this purpose if not any other.

She couldn’t go back. She would throw everything away before she went back to any of it.

She hadn’t realized how long she’d been awake until a knock at the door stunned her back into consciousness after blankly staring at the keyboard of her computer for far too many minutes. Papers were spread out over her bed along with their accompanying pens dangerously touching the bedspread. Jen got up with a groan and quickly picked up her mess before haphazardly shoving it onto her desk. Her maids didn’t usually wait to enter, and neither did Idalia, and that only meant it was someone she was less familiar with, which was everyone else in the palace.

Jen went to the door then, not expecting anyone in particular, but Arin was less of a surprise than she thought he would be. “Hi,” she said.

“Hey. Are you busy right now?”

She glanced back to her room at the laptop still on her bed. It had been hours, and she liked to think she’d gotten somewhere. Narrowing down her list was something. “Very.” She looked back to him, only noticing then the casual clothes he was wearing—jeans and a T-shirt. Being normal shouldn’t have been as attractive as it was. “How may I be of service?”

“Why don't you go change into something you don't mind getting dirty in and we'll talk.”

She raised an eyebrow as he smiled. “Alright. You can come in, I guess, and I'll…” She gestured toward the back of the room, though that wasn’t the direction of her bathroom. “Go change.” She didn’t wait for him before heading back, knowing he would be fine alone, and she needed just a moment to process the idea of him in her room again.

_ Don’t mind getting dirty, _ she mused as she slipped on a pair of jeans. Shorts would’ve been preferable, but she hadn’t shaved her legs in multiple days, which she’d already been regretting, but there was no time to mourn now. Jen walked out of the bathroom right as she was tucking in her white T-shirt into her pants, and her eyes immediately settled to Arin sitting on her bed, not unlike last time but very different all the same. Last time had been him just needing a place to sit, and her mind hadn’t strayed too far from that reality. Now she had to force away the image of him in her bed. Unfortunate, almost.

When she was finished with her shirt, nearing him, she raised her arms to put her hair up in a ponytail. “Acceptable for your... activity?”

He looked up at her and half-rolled his eyes. “It’ll do.”

She took a step closer, dropping her arms from her finished hair and leaning just a bit closer as she considered him, feeling much taller than she was. “Are you sure? I'll wear whatever you want me to.” A joke for the most part, but she would listen. Just this once.

His eyes went to her feet, and when they returned to hers, there was a smirk on his lips. “Put on tennis shoes.”

“As you wish,” she said, not trying to hide her smirk as she went to her closet to pick out a pair. She wondered often where the palace got their clothing, but the answer would probably upset her, so she preferred not to think too much about it. She came out with the shoes and took a seat next to him. “Are you gonna tell me what we're doing or keep keeping secrets?” she asked as she began to undo the laces.

He looked over at her. “You really don't handle surprises that well, do you?”

She slipped her foot into one of the shoes and went to work on the other one. “I don’t like surprises.” 

“Why? They don’t bite.” He nudged her with his elbow.

“Sometimes they do,” she said before really thinking about. A little too dark for normal conversation, but it was appropriate for her train of thought. Ian trying to get her pregnant was, indeed, a surprise, one she would preferably never relive. She looked at Arin with a grim smile as she slipped on her other shoe. “But I can give it a try.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’ll know in less than five minutes.”  _ It took that long last time too. _

She stood up and looked at him. “Well, Dreamsicle, lead the way then.”

He also stood and began walking toward the door. Jen trailed after him. “ _ As you wish, _ Bombus.”

His tone was off, as if quoting the best movie of all time was grounds to make fun of her. She sorely disagreed. “So I can assume we're staying in this time?” she asked as he opened the door for her, yet another reminder of that first date she wasn’t even sure she could call disastrous.

“What makes you think that? Maybe we're going for a run.”

She raised her eyebrows as she stepped into the hall, eyes glancing down to the pants that were too normal-looking yet probably more expensive than she wanted to know. “You always run in jeans?

“Maybe I do.” He shut the door behind them and took the lead to wherever the hell they were going. “Why? Is that a problem?”

She stuck to his side, close but not touching. She never really knew where they stood, even after making out on the couch in a library, he’d left so quickly, she wasn’t really sure if that was a one-time thing. Happening upon each other in random places and making out was one thing. Being sought out was completely different. “Actually, it is. I don't think I could take you seriously anymore.”

“Anymore,” he echoed, looking over at her with a smile. She’d never seen him smile like that. “So you take me seriously is what I'm hearing.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Don’t ignore the point.”

“Too late. It's already gone to my head.”

“Then I should say something to take you down a notch, shouldn't I?” Jen knew, though, it was too late to save herself. She’d lost this one.

He shook his head. “Maybe you should.” They arrived at the stairs then, and with the sting of defeat, she hadn’t even noticed exactly which one he’d gone to.

She stopped in her tracks before she could take a step up. “Wrong staircase.” Third floor. They’d said the third floor was absolutely off-limits, and she had never exactly felt the urge to test those limits. They were already invading the family’s home, and that floor was the last area of privacy they had.

He was already a step up, and he turned back to her. “I know where I’m going.”

“I can’t…” She looked from the staircase and then back to him. “I can't go up there.”

“It’s fine.” He motioned with his head for her to follow. “Come on.”

It was forbidden. They’d made that very clear, but if the literal prince was inviting her up, then it had to be okay, so Jen loosed a breath and took a step up to stand next to him. “If I get yelled at, it's on you.”

They continued up the stairs, but he looked over at her, raising his eyebrows. “Aren't I worth getting yelled at for?”

“I'm not sure. That's still up in the air at the moment.”

“Well, surely there has to be a way I can help you decide.”

Too close. Too close to the top. She shouldn’t have felt as nervous as she was. “Guess you'll have to try and please me to find out.”

He chuckled. “Well, it's a good thing that I have an idea or two then.”

She removed her gaze from him, staring straight ahead to feign disinterest, but in reality, she couldn’t deny the fact that she was a little more enticed the idea than she should’ve been. “Can't wait to see them then since you're so confident.”

They reached the top of the stairs then, and Jen couldn’t help but look, just for a moment. It was similar to the second floor, but there were fewer doors, and photos hung on the wall, most people she recognized and some that she did not. Arin, Safiya, Ayesha, and Wylan made up the kids featured at multiple stages of life, except for Wylan’s, whose pictures looked fairly recent but still a bit younger. Further down was Arin’s moms and their families, as well as just sections of nature or vacations they must have taken.

“You’re very keen on compliments today.”

She immediately tore her gaze away from the pictures, shame suddenly nagging at the back of her brain. Just a minute up here, and she was already intruding into their family. “You caught me in a good mood.”

He looked over at her in shock. “You've been getting full nights of sleep, haven't you? That's why I haven't been running into you in the kitchen at 2 AM.” He shook his head and mumbled, “Sleeping without me.”

That gave her a moment of pause, but not a long one. She scoffed, as if the mere suggestion of sleeping was preposterous. “Of course not. One night spent with me is a lot more fun than just the kitchen.” She paused because even if it was true in multiple ways, that definitely sounded wrong. “Not what I meant.”

He looked over at her with a smirk that was just a bit different than the one he usually gave her. “Well, okay then.” 

As his eyes went back forward, she found herself blurting out more. “But I wouldn't be opposed to it.” The moment it left her mouth, she regretted it, but it was out there now. No turning back. “You know, just talking.”

“Right. Talking,” he said, his expression shifting just a little bit as he shoved his hands into his pockets. 

They rounded a corner then, but she wasn’t paying attention to anything but his tone. She cleared her throat and forced herself to keep looking forward, but the thing she wanted to say was questionable at best and regrettable at worst.  _ Fuck it. _ “Unless there were other things you wanted to do as well.”

Jen wasn’t sure what she expected the answer to be, but she was almost glad she didn’t get it because Arin stopped at a door at the end of the hall just as he should’ve answered and opened it quickly for her. The door contained only a staircase ascending, a strange sight considering the fact that the third floor was supposedly the highest. “Watch your step,” he told her.

She simply peered up at the steps, her gaze scrutinizing, before going back to him. “Why does this feel like the beginning of a horror movie and you're about to murder me?” Even with that, she began up the stairs, not actually nervous but a little confused.

“I wouldn't know why,” he said, shutting the door behind him as he walked up behind her. “I've never actually seen a horror movie.”

“Never seen a—” She cut herself off and looked over her shoulder to look down at him and walked up. His eyes were trained firmly on the railing, not looking up at her when she spoke. “That is so sad. I am so sorry.”

His eyes flitted up to hers for a moment before returning to their place. “I'm not a fan of scary movies,” he mumbled.

At the reaction, Jen ran through anything she’d said that would’ve caused the shift in his mood but came up with nothing. “Aw, are they too  _ scary _ for you?” she teased, just to ease the tension, but nothing was ever easy with him.

“Can we just... get up the stairs please?” 

“Touchy,” she mumbled before taking the last few steps up.

Even when they got to the top, his eyes didn’t meet hers as he continued further into what she supposed was an attic. It wasn’t nearly as finished as the rest of the palace, obviously used mostly for storage rather than to look nice. “I didn't know palaces had attics.”

He shrugged. “Where do you think we keep all the bodies?”

“Obviously the dungeon. Everyone knows you keep the family secrets in the attic.” She took a step toward him, a playful smile on her lips. “Are yours up here too?”

He tilted his head to the side as he looked down at her. “No, they’re in the greenhouse with my mom’s emergency wine stash.”

She could believe it after that night in the kitchen with Evalin and Princess Mélanie and that wine with an alcohol content that Jen could most definitely not handle. It may not have been her ideal night, but she’d still gotten the cookies done and sent, and everything could’ve gone much worse. “Sad. We'll have to visit another time then.” She looked away to continue studying the attic. It was organized and spacious, and she couldn’t even imagine what they would be actually storing up here with the amount of space that was here “Can I know what we’re doing now?”

She fully expected him not to answer her, but he pointed over to a corner around a wall of shelves, and a further step toward him revealed a blank wall taped up with tarps laid out and numerous buckets of paint near it. “We're... painting?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I can’t let you paint the library but no one really comes up here so it should be fine.”

_ Maybe next time we can give it a fresh coat of paint instead. _ It had been an off-hand comment she wouldn’t have remembered if he hadn’t brought it up again. Somehow the thought he actually remembered was… endearing. “I think I might be able to live with that.”

“Oh, good,” he said, stepping toward the tarp and motioning her to follow, “because if you couldn’t live with that I don’t know what I’d do with myself.”

She ignored the sarcasm, just letting her eyes scan the environment. The lights were already on, illuminating the workspace that was set-up against a 10x10 wall, which was taped-up in half already. He’d already been up here then or had someone who did. He’d  _ planned _ this. She hoped her voice didn’t betray her. “I'm sure you'd figure out some way to cope.”

Arin didn’t answer right away, just stepped on the tarp and stared at the wall with careful consideration. “Scotch,” he said finally, not looking back at her.

She stepped next to him, her eyes going from her wall to him. “Maybe consider a... healthier alternative. Ice cream or baking is good.”

“I'm not sure ice cream or cookies are healthier.” She wanted to refute, but it wasn’t worth the time or effort. “Okay, I know what I'm going to paint on my side.”

“What?”

He snorted and looked over to her. “Wow, your level of impatience never ceases to amaze me.”

“Here I thought you would've been used to it by now.” She looked over at the buckets of paint as she considered. It had been a while since she’d even thought about it. Over three years it had to be now. The smell was apparent but comforting. “I look forward to seeing your creation. I am an artist at heart after all.” That was what her mom used to say, and she’d always believed her.

He laughed. “Are you, really? You should have put that on your application.”

She hummed as she kneeled down at the paint to see what she was working with. Not a familiar brand, but she could cope. A lot of colors too, and they definitely didn’t look cheap. “I haven't done much painting since high school, but you know those sketches they do when cameras aren't allowed in the courtroom? I used to sit in during trials and do those back a couple of years ago.”

Ian had gotten her that gig too, said if she wanted to do art then to do something useful with it. And even that was done away with eventually.  _ Don’t lose focus. _

“Really?” Arin asked, taking her out of the memories, and she was grateful for that. No reason to think about things she didn’t do anymore. “And you’ve never offered to draw me?” He shook his head. “I thought we were friends, Bee.”

She looked up at him then, smiling from the nickname. “You want me to draw you like one of my French girls?”

He half-rolled his eyes. “Only if I get to wear that necklace.”

Her eyes studied his expression, at the slight smirk he had as he looked down at her. She could say it’d been a while since she’d seen Titanic, but there was no forgetting the scene they were referencing, so maybe that was where his thought process was. Or it could’ve been on the fact she was on her knees. “I'm sure you have one lying around somewhere.” She looked back down at the paint. “Find it, then we'll talk about that drawing.”

“Yes, right. I'll just go to my hidey-hole of riches and dig it out. And I think we have a fancy couch in the basement that'll do.”

She couldn’t help but pause for a moment at the thought before she recovered. “I look forward to it,” she said, eyes still trained on the paint colors before she stood back up. “Alright, I know what I'm painting.” A vague idea, but it was enough for now.

“Then I guess we should get started.” 

He also went to the paints, opening whichever cans he needed, and she just stood there, debating where to start. After a moment, she picked up an open color and poured it into one of the clean trays awaiting her. “Do you often paint attics for fun?”

He dumped a can of dark blue paint into his tray before straightening up. “No, this is my first time.”

She hummed in acknowledgment as she headed back to the wall. “Glad to be here for the first then. I have to ask, though, is hiding in an attic really necessary?” She didn’t look at him as she asked, just grabbed a paint roller and walked back to her wall

Arin also grabbed a roller from the pile and a roll of the blue painter’s tape before going back to his wall. He set the tray down next to him as he peeled the tape onto the wall immediately. “You have a problem with attics?”

“No,” she answered, pressing her roller to the wall. “Just wondering why we're keeping  _ secrets. _ ” She glanced at him, her voice lowering at the final word.”

“We're keeping this a secret because I don't think it would be appreciated if we randomly painted the library.”

She huffed a laugh, knowing he was right, but the idea was fun to hold onto. “No idea what you mean. I think it would be greatly appreciated.”

“Yes,” he said as he divided out his tape into four different sections on the wall, “my mom would love to discover that the lovely floral wallpaper she ordered from France was painted by her artistically challenged son and a woman who can't bake cookies to save her life.”

She laughed at the sheer audacity, continuing to roll her paint onto the wall. “First of all, I can bake.”

“I mean…” He looked over at her, and she turned to meet his gaze. “I have yet to see proof. Those cookies you sent me were a bit dense.”

They were, but she wasn’t going to admit that. “I can't believe you would say something like that.”

He chuckled and gave her a shrug with a shit-eating grin that told her he was just trying to egg her on. “I thought we agreed to be honest.”

She scoffed, turning back to her wall, which was almost coated with its base coat. “That is not honest. That is false, and you should take it back right now.”

She heard the sound of more tape being taken off the roll. “I don't think I'll take it back. I'd be telling you the truth, which is what you wanted.”

“Fine.” She gave him a pointed glance. “Maybe I'll start being honest too.”

He patted the last section of tape he’d laid before looking back over at her. “Maybe you should be.”

At the tone of his voice, the challenge that would drive her crazy if she didn’t do anything about it, she set her tray and paint roller down on the tarp and turned to him fully. “Your kissing skills leave much to be desired.” A lie. She hadn’t exactly ranked him in her head, that train of thought too dangerous to think about during the nights it came to mind in more ways than one, but he wasn’t a bad kisser by any means. A little hesitant at times, but that had only happened after she’d told him what she had in the library. She supposed she could call it considerate, which wasn’t a bad thing.

Arin seemed to almost find it funny, though, tossing his roll of tape and the dry paint roller onto the tarp as he turned to her as well. “Well, you were sure moaning a lot. But right.” He crossed his arms. “‘Much to be desired.’”

She could cross off hesitance now because it seemed that was not the case anymore. She took a second to recover from his words, but she managed to straighten out her face. “Who said I was moaning for  _ you? _ ” Moaning was a strong word for it in the first place. That

“You definitely said my name,” he said as he tilted his head and raised his eyebrows with that irritating smirk still on his face. “More than once.”

He was right. She was sure she had, but she was a stubborn bitch for a reason. “Maybe I just did it so you wouldn't feel bad.”

“Right, of course.” He nodded. “And that's why you begged me not to stop.”

Now she couldn’t remember that ever happening, though it wasn’t out of the question in possible things she’d ever done, so she would let him have it for now. “I called you good too.” She took another step toward him to close some of the distance. With this line of conversation, it was a dangerous move, but she had nothing to lose anymore. “Something tells me you enjoyed it.”

He didn’t move, just kept watching her and did nothing. Somehow that was worse than anything. “Not as much as you like the way I say your name.” Another smirk. “Jen.”

She paused for a second because, technically, he was right, but she wasn’t going to let him know that when he was so desperately itching for a reaction. Well, if he wanted one, she would give it to him. 

Jen narrowed her eyes, and, without another word, bent down and stuck her hand deep into the blue paint. She flicked the paint onto his white shirt too quickly for him to react before straightening up again. “Oh, Arin.” She took one more step toward him and set the painted hand onto his shoulder, sliding it down his shirt until the paint started streaking on the fabric. “Say it again.”

“Jen,” he said with the slightest grimace from the paint, but he kept his eyes on her, not wanting to lose whatever this was. It was a good thing she didn’t mind getting a little dirty either.

Without another word, Jen tilted her head to the side and pressed the back of the painted hand to her own skin before trailing it down over her shirt until the paint also started streaking. Her eyes went back to his as she tilted her head back into place, smirking. “Fine. Maybe I lied. Your mouth is more than acceptable.”

“So, you admit I was right then.”

She reaches up to loop her arms around his neck, her skin pressing into the wet paint again. This would be a joy to clean off. “That I can't bake? No, you're still wrong about that.”

His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her dangerously close as he shook his head. “The proof is in the snickerdoodles.”

“The snickerdoodles that you burnt.” She slid an arm down to press her thumb into the paint before flicking it over his cheek. “All on your own.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. “Only because I had someone distracting me.”

She raised her eyebrows from the sole fact that they were really doing this again. “Here I thought you enjoyed me on the counter for you.”

There was a moment of consideration that she saw flicker across his face, but it didn’t take long for him to lean down to her ear. “I did,” he said, breath hot against her ear. “And I’d enjoy other things too.”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what these other things were, and the mere idea was enough to make her breath catch. She’d wanted it that night in the kitchen as well as in the library when the opportunities presented themselves, but it hadn’t been a good idea then, and surely it wasn’t a good idea now. “Maybe we can see exactly what those 'other things' are sometime,” she said as her fingers tightened around him, “but I've still got a wall to paint.” She raised herself up to lean her mouth to his ear in the same way, voice lowering into a whisper. “You're not fucking me in an attic.”  _ And the cherry on top. _ “The first time.”

He tilted his head, only pressing closer as his lips pressed against her ear. She knew he could feel how hot her skin was, and it only heightened from him speaking again. “Bee.”

_ Life is about bad decisions. _ She shuttered out a breath. “Or maybe I can be convinced to paint later.” In the corner of the room was that couch, too small for two people lying side-by-side but just large enough to fit someone lying down and maybe a half. Across the back was a quilt, so at least she wouldn’t be cold. She supposed there were worse places they could be at the moment.

His lips pressed to just below her ear, which only caused her to press even closer, restraint falling away, and it only worsened when his fingers brushed against the hem of her shirt. “Bee.” A silent question, a bad idea, but she wasn’t saying no.

“Arin,” she sighed, her head falling back just a little inadvertently as her fingers tightened around him. Maybe they didn’t have to do it on the coach. The third floor was right down those stairs, and his room couldn’t be too far. Much more comfortable, definitely smarter, perhaps a little less subtle but a lot less like teenagers messing around in one of their parents’ houses.

She didn’t get the chance to tell him it was okay, though, because he pulled away before she could blink, letting go of her completely. “Sorry,” he said breathlessly. “I shouldn’t have. Let’s paint.”

For a few moments, she stood there incredulously because it was the exact opposite of what she was expecting or wanted, but the action seemed to have snapped both of them out of their reveries.  _ A bad idea, _ her mind said again, and she had to agree. Not like this. “You're fine. Painting is good.” Jen also took a step back and turned back to her well, which, at least, had a bit of time to dry. She didn’t wait long before setting back to work, grabbing her tray to finish up with the wall’s base coat. “Talk to me about something,” she asked, mostly to try and distract herself from the position they were just in, what they’d almost done.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him over to where the buckets of paint sat, and he began filling up his tray. Without missing a beat, he said, “No one knows where eels come from for sure.”

_ Of course. _ She couldn’t complain about the change of topic because nothing made her want to take off her clothes less than eels. “Really? Why's that?”

“You know, why don't I send you the link to the documentary. We can talk about something else.”

She glanced at him once before deciding it was a mistake. A huge one. “Gonna write down the link on one of your fancy notecards?” She still had the whole collection of his tucked away into the corner of her nightstand. They were one of the first to occupy that drawer and apparently would stay there, now accompanied by the dog collar, Idalia’s letter, and the book he’d gotten her for her birthday.

“Maybe so. What if I do?”

She smiled as she went to grab another paintbrush to do some edging. She’d always loved this part, picking out brushes, especially when they were new. “I feel like there are easier ways to go about it.”

“I could just text you, I guess.” He paused then, and she waited for him to put the pieces together before she said anything. “I just realized I don't actually have your phone number.”

She met his gaze and tried to ignore any unnecessary thoughts from making themselves too apparent. That could wait. “I guess we should remedy that, shouldn't we?”

“I don't have my phone on me right now. Later?” Neither did she. She hated that she liked the idea that it was just them here. No distractions. “I don't know a lot about you, do I?”

“Whatever happened to those files, huh?” she asked as she knelt down to work on the bottom edging.

He blew out a breath. “You know.... Somehow they accidentally made their way into the shredder. It was a tragedy really. None of the files could be salvaged.” He met her gaze again. “I'm holding a memorial next Tuesday if you're interested.”

“That's a pity, but I'll be there. You're not gonna push it back like our wedding, right? It’ll actually be on Tuesday?” A risky move to bring up that joke now that actual things had happened between them.

“I'm grieving and you're concerned about our wedding.” He clicked his tongue in feigned admonishment. “Can I even marry someone when I don't know her middle name?”

“You wouldn't know because I don't have one.”

“Oh? I didn't know that,” he said, frowning. “Well, now I feel like an idiot.”

She actually laughed because that was the last thing she was thinking. “Don't. My name is always confusing to people. The amount of times people assume I'm a Jennifer has gotten grating over the years.” She stopped herself when she realized she was about to go off on a tangent. “I feel like I'm supposed to know yours, but I actually can't remember.”

“Well, I think ‘Jen’ is pretty.” He looked away, turning back to his side of the wall and completely missing her expression. “And it’s Philippe.”

She very nearly missed what he’d said, her brain still focused on his previous statement more than anything. Their conversations hadn’t been insulting exactly, but they’d never felt like this before. Less friendly jabbing and more… something else. “Right. Any significance to it?” she asked instead of reacting.

“It's French I think and has something to do with horses.” He shrugged as he rolled, the top section of his side nearly covered. “What does ‘Jen’ mean?”

That much she knew. “In English, it's 'Fair phantom' or something like that. In Chinese, it could be a lot of different things, but my characters mean 'real' or 'genuine.'” She glanced down then, not feeling like she was either of things her parents had named her after. Well, her father did, at least. Her mother had wanted to use the characters that meant “rare.” Little did her father know that his real and genuine daughter slept with his best friend.

Arin’s top square was finished when he looked back at her. “So in other words your name is perfect for you.”

Jen paused her painting for the moment, looking over at him. “Which part? Me being fair, a phantom, or real?”

He took a step toward her, tilting his head to the side like he knew she was full of shit. “That you're real and genuine. Though I think they should update the definition a bit.”

“Why?” she asked, trying to make her voice level and succeeding for the most part.

He took another step toward her, a small smile on his lips. “I think it should also mean gorgeous. I've never met a Jen who wasn't pretty and stunning or smart.”

She couldn’t count the number of emotions that went across her face at once if she tried, and she immediately kicked herself for acting like a middle-schooler who’d never talked to a boy before. “I—How many Jens have you met?”

He took another step closer, and it was in that moment she realized he was definitely gunning for this rapid decline in her mental health. “I've met exactly one.”

_ God. _ She needed to get it together. It hadn’t been that long since a guy complimented her, but the guy in question had also been Ian, and his never quite hit the spot, granted he’d never been good at hitting any spot at all. On reflex, she brought the hand that wasn’t holding her paint tray up as a line of defense that was useless itself. “You're not allowed to compliment me.”

“We agreed to tell the truth.”

“Yeah, but I'm supposed to be able to call you cute in my head without repercussions, so what am I supposed to do now that I know you think that?” She almost regretted the words the moment they left her mouth, but they were out now. It was right about then that she started wishing he’d brought some scotch.

“You think I'm cute?” he asked, voice disbelieving.

She could only give him an incredulous look. “Of course I think you're cute.” He’d always been attractive. Cute had been a more recent development.

Something was off in the way he looked at her now, not uncomfortable exactly but different. “I didn’t know that.”

Her attraction to him hadn’t exactly been subtle for a long while now, but then again, she couldn’t have pinpointed when he’d started becoming attracted to her if she tried. “Not sure how you didn't think I thought that, but... do with it what you will.”

“Okay then. I will,” he said, tone suddenly turning into one she recognized as familiar. “I think you're funny, kind, empathetic—even if you don't really like letting people in—and you're brilliant.”

She squinted her eyes shut, covering half of her face with her free hand as if that would save her from the situation. “Oh my god, not what I meant.”

“What did you mean then?” 

He reached up and poked at the hand covering her face, causing her nose to scrunch up in distaste. “I meant for you to fuel your ego, not mine.”

“I just wanted to tell you what I thought.” He took a step back, putting more distance between them now. “I can stop.”

She didn’t realize how uncomfortable she sounded until right then, and knowing him, he was trying to avoid that. She’d already put that down as a reason he was cute. “No, it's okay. I—” She almost apologized but stopped herself. “I like what you said.”

“Oh… I thought you didn’t.”

The frown on his face seemed to kick something in her head into gear because she immediately decided to set down the paint tray again and took a step forward to remove some of the distance. “People don't really compliment me much,” she said, giving him a small smile. A reassurance, hopefully. “Maybe you should say it again. I'm not really sure if I remember.” Back to their little games. Easy to fall into that routine again.

There was a hint of surprise in the look he gave her, but it was quickly replaced by a look of curiosity. To what, though, she couldn’t say. “Which did you want me to say again?” He reached his hand up to brush away some of the hair that had fallen out of her ponytail out of her face. “Funny, kind, brilliant?” He leaned in, smiling a little. “Beautiful? Stubborn?”

The way he was staring made her avert her eyes, head already too filled with compliments to think about anything else. “All of those are... good.”

“Okay,” he said cautiously, pulling his hand away. “Are you good?”

She forced herself to blink away whatever it was she was feeling and look back at him. There was no need to make him worry for no reason. “I'm fine, sorry.” She did her best to smile, and it was easier than she thought. “It's not every day a guy tells me those things.”

“Well, they should,” he said, but it wasn’t in any tone she’d ever heard it. It was sad almost, like he couldn’t believe she wasn’t exactly a popular girl at school. Maybe at one point she may have been, but those times had long passed.

Jen tentatively reached out a hand to take his, slow to make sure he was still okay with it, and when he didn’t pull away, she squeezed him a little. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, looking down at her hand. “It’s just that we haven’t don’t this before.”

She didn’t know what “this” meant, but she had an inkling it was because of the fact that this was just… nice. No fighting. No crying. Nothing bad intruding on the moment they were having, and it was terrifying in a way, but she didn’t mind it. It was nice to just spend time with someone like this. “Do you like it?”

His eyes were on his hand when he answered again. “I think so.” He looked up, and their gaze met. “Do you?”

She pressed her lips together as she nodded. “I do. It's different.” She cracked a smile. “I like the way you look at me.”

He chuckled, reaching up again to touch her face, but this time it wasn’t to fix her hair. “It’s probably because you have paint on your face.”

Her jaw slacked in feigned offense, touching the marred cheek for a moment before reaching up to his that she’d done just minutes ago. “I could say the same about you.”

“Maybe,” he said, raising his eyebrows, “but I’m not the one who got the paint everywhere.” Then, as if he was just fucking with her, he added, “Jen.”

“You told me to wear clothes I wouldn't mind getting dirty.” Her eyes went to the paint on his chest, and she smiled. “Gotta make my mark on you somehow.”

“I think you left a big enough mark on those cookies.” He tilted his head, taunting because here they were again. “Mission accomplished.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Of all the nice things I could say about you, your baking skills wouldn't be one either, so I don't wanna hear it.”

“What sort of things do you want to hear about instead?”

“What else is there to say?”

“You’re a good friend.” He squeezed her hand. “You’re determined.” He tapped the front of her shoe with his own before reaching up with his free hand and tracing his thumb over her lips. “And when you smile it lights up a room.”

She couldn’t help but suck in a breath at the contact on her lips or the smile that appeared in its wake, but she had a feeling that was exactly what he wanted. “You should be more careful,” she said, voice level, but her heart was racing. Not out of nervousness but out of something else.

“Why’s that?” he asked, pulling his thumb back from her lips. His expression was soft, smiling down at her with contentedness in his eyes. “Is this where you tell me you're a biter?”

Biting was for special occasions, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. “No, it's where I tell you if you keep talking like that you might accidentally make me fall in love with you.”

He stilled completely then, his expression morphing into shock. “Jen…”

She couldn’t completely understand the reaction because it wasn’t like she’d actually told him she loved him or anything close to that, but she supposed she could consider his position. It had to be awkward with the number of women he was romantically to hear something like that so soon. Even she had to admit it had slipped out. Maybe not the best idea, true nevertheless. “I'm sorry. I… shouldn't have said that.”

He stepped a little closer, a small reassurance. “ I just wasn't expecting you to say that. Honesty, remember? Don’t be sorry.”

She nodded, a hint of a smile returning to her face. “Don't worry. I'm gonna need a lot more than some compliments for that.” She paused, not sure if that was actually true. It hadn’t taken much to say she loved Ian, but it was also a culmination of past pining and the fact that she’d been obsessed with his intellect for years before that. Now that she thought about it, that definitely wasn’t healthy. “I can be more honest if you want,” she said instead, even if she didn’t always want to be. Saying she would be was a good start.

“I think we can both be more honest.”

“Honesty is good,” she told him before squeezing his hand and taking a step back toward her half of the wall. “Luckily, we can be honest while painting.”

He nodded as he turned back to his side of the wall. “It’s your turn to talk to me.”

She laughed, picking her tray back up as she watched him  go to another paint can. “How is it my turn? I think I have been plenty honest in the past 2 minutes.”

“Fine, then ask me something and I guess I’ll talk.” He dipped his roller into the new shade of blue paint he’d poured into his tray and started on the next square of the wall.

She couldn’t help but be surprised by the forthcomingness, but she wasn’t going to say anything about it, just focusing on filling in the missing spots of paint. “I may regret asking this, but how many girls aside from me have you kissed?”

There was a pause for a moment, but that was to be expected. She didn’t exactly have much of a lead-in to that question. “I’ve kissed four... How many people have you kissed?”

“Five. Including you.”

“Well, it seems we’re equal then.” He still didn’t look over, but he nodded his head. “Five is a good number.”

“It is.” She glanced at him. “Was the story about the Spanish infanta true?”

There was surprise in his eyes when he nodded. “It was true, yeah. You remembered that?”

“Of course I did,” she answered, raising her eyebrows because why wouldn’t she have? “Was it good?”

He looked back at the wall and scrunched up his face a bit. “Not particularly, no. She kissed me—I didn’t kiss her.”

She also looked back to the wall, humming her acknowledgment. “Was that your first?”

“Yeah, it was. Not ideal but also not really noteworthy.” He let out a laugh that had a hint of awkwardness to it. “Needless to say I steer clear of her if we’re ever at the same event. Or I try to.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at the mental image of the Prince of Illéa staunchly avoiding a Spanish princess at one of the fancy palace events. “If only you'd let the poor girl snatch you up. Maybe if this whole Selection thing doesn't work out, she'll still be waiting for you.”

He blew out a breath, shaking his head. “That’s a hard pass. Not all the money in the world—or anything else for that matter—could convince me to marry her. Or even be in the same place alone with her ever again.”

That was when it clicked in her head what was going on. It’d taken much longer than it probably should’ve for her to acknowledge what Ian did in his office as assault because it hadn’t seemed like a big deal at the time. She hadn’t said no, hadn’t pulled away. She’d been able to confront those feelings months later after a lot of soul-searching, but that was with the help of some luck and shared experiences. Guys didn’t always have access to the resources they should've had in that department, and if they did, then it being brushed off as “just a kiss” by everyone they may have told didn’t help. She knew first-hand how damaging “just a kiss” was. 

“I’m sorry,” she told him, her voice a little quieter, already regretting laughing. “I didn’t realize.” Her eyes went back to him to see how he was faring, but she couldn’t read anything from the expression. “I wouldn't be able to either. Be in the same place, I mean.”

He shrugged, brushing it off because of course he would. “No need to be sorry, it’s not a big deal, I’m over it.” She frowned a little at the reaction but didn’t press. She wasn’t going to tell him what it was, even if she wanted to. She wouldn’t have believed anyone about hers if she hadn’t figured it out for herself. “What about you? I hope your first kiss was a lot better.”

His small smile of reassurance didn’t give much, but it wasn’t something she wanted to talk about often either, so she decided to oblige him. “Unmemorable. I don't even remember his name, but I remember his breath smelled like the tacos my friend's mom made us that night.”  _ Was it David? Alex? Avan? _ “I think those tacos were better, honestly.”

He laughed and resumed the rolling of paint on his side. “So, we both had mediocre first kisses.” He looked over at her, face amused. “Maybe firsts don’t matter all that much.”

She also resumed painting but still gave him the occasional glance. “They don't, but they can set a precedent. Just depends on if it gets better.” She turned to him fully then. “Have you at least had a good first since then?”

“All of the ones since then have been good.”

His smile put her at ease, so she went back to working on her wall. “That's good. And there'll be a lot of good firsts to come too, so there are things to look forward to.”

“Right... like the first time a girl splashes me with paint—or murders an entire family of snickerdoodles.” He was staring at the wall still, but when she looked closer, she could see the grin on his face, definitely knowing what he was doing.

“You deserved the paint.”

He stopped rolling and turned to her. “Oh, really? Name at least three good reasons I deserved that?” With his free hand, he motioned to his stained shirt.

“Said I can't bake, too tall, and accused me of improper things.” For each reason, she counted off a finger before raising her eyebrows, knowing very well he would challenge it.

As expected, he pulled his roller back from the wall and placed it back into his tray as he turned to her, also holding up his fingers to count them off. “First of all, those cookies were too dense and you know it. Second, blame genetics, not me. And third, I haven't accused you of anything you haven't actually done.”

“Okay, the cookies were dense but edible, I will blame your genetics, and I admit to everything else except begging you not to stop because I don't recall that ever happening.”

He smirked a little at that. “That's okay. You don't have to remember. I can remember for you.”

Alright, if he wanted to play this game, she would play. “I'm sure you love remembering too.”

He cocked his head to the side. “And if I do?”

“Then that’s your business,” she said, voice low and letting him decide exactly what that means. “I won't tell.”

“What if I want it to be your business?” he asked as he kneeled down onto the tarp to open another bucket of paint, and she pushed away what the image reminded her of.

“Then make it my business.”

He reached for the lid opener to pop open the lid of another can of paint, still not looking at her. “I can but you'd have to tell me exactly what you want.”

That was an option, but they’d had close enough of a call already, and it wasn’t like she even knew what she wanted. “Maybe it's better that some things be left a mystery.”

There was a moment of silence, but it was cut off by Arin dipping his hand into one of the buckets of paint and flinging it toward her, covering her lower half in splotches of green. “I don’t know how that happened. It’s a mystery,” he said.

Jen let out a few gasping breaths as she looked down at her jeans, now stained by paint. A part of her was surprised because she wasn’t sure he had the guts. Instead of saying anything, she dipped her hand into an open can of red paint before flicking it to cover his jeans and shirt in paint as well. An eye for an eye. She straightened up. “Some mysteries just can't be solved, can they?”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he straightened up and walked right in front of her. With the hand coated in paint, Arin reached out and wiped his hand down the center of her shirt, from the neckline to the hem. “I guess not.”

Jen wasn’t exactly sure what she was expecting, but it was definitely not that. She let out a few heavy gasps, looking down at the stained shirt before meeting his eyes again with a smirk. “If this was your excuse to feel me up, you could've just asked and saved us both the trouble.”

He reached out again and pressed his index finger to his nose, leaving a dot of paint on it. “As I recall, you said I didn't have to ask about anything here.” Using the back of his hand, he streaked her midriff with the remaining paint.

She had to admit she was mildly disturbed by the cold paint seeping through her clothes, but she didn’t let herself show it, just reached up to smear another streak of paint across his cheek. “Tell me where my boundaries are on you then.”

“I'd have to think about it.”

She hummed as she trailed her hand from his cheek to his neck and then down to his shoulder. “Is this okay?”

“So far so good.”

At this, her smirk widened, and she moved her hand down to the top of his chest, but she kept her eyes on him to make sure he was okay. “This too?”

“That too, Bee.”

“Mm, good.” At his reaction and the nickname, she spread out her fingers and slid her hand down the center of his chest. “And that?”

He reached up with his painted hand to grasp hers. “Still fine, snail.”

She let out a small scoff in feigned offense before moving her hand across his stomach and letting it settle somewhere between his waist and hip. “Still fine?”

He nodded, letting out a laugh. “Still okay,” he said, glancing down at her hand.

She kept her eyes on his, her heart picking up its pace as she slid her hand down and slipped it under his shirt, letting her hand rest on his bare skin. “Is that?” She made sure to watch his reaction because she knew he would do the same for her.

He smirked a little. “Now I think you're the one looking for an excuse to feel me up.”

She smiled and leaned down to set the paint tray in her other hand down on the ground, still keeping her painted hand on his skin. When she straightened back up, she slipped her now-free hand under his shirt as well. “Maybe I am, but you didn't answer the question, darling.”

“If it wasn’t I’d have told you by now,” he said, peering down at her.

She gave him a squeeze for the unnecessary sass before letting her hands go to the top of his jeans, but they didn’t do anything but rest there. “You've got some good boundaries for me to work with, I think.”

He snorted. “I’m glad I gave you enough to work with. I try to be accommodating to all my guests.”

She huffed a laugh as she pressed her fingers into his skin just a little tighter. “Very accommodating. Makes me wanna make some changes to mine.”

“I think that’s just the paint fumes talking,” he said, leaning closer and lowering his voice into a whisper.

She matched his distance and tone with a smirk. “No, I've been thinking that ass may be on the list of acceptable areas for a while. No paint involved.”

He sucked in a breath and whispered again in that low voice of his. “Definitely the paint fumes. No doubt about it.”

She smiled at the words, removing her hands from under his shirt to loop around his neck, pulling him a little closer. A lot bolder than she usually would’ve been last time in the library, but these were different times. “You can ask me later. I'll still say yes.”

“That’s the sleep deprivation talking.”

She leaned a little closer, a smile still on her face. “You can put me to bed and let me get eight hours, and my answer won't change.”

“That’s a bold statement.” He raised his eyebrows. “Maybe I’m delirious from the lack of scotch in my system.”

She raised her eyebrows then, not expecting that at all. She’d noticed what had seemed like a problem with alcohol before, but either she’d been mistaken or he was taking efforts to stop. Both worked for her. “No scotch, really? None at all?”

“What’s that look on your face?” he asked, staring at her in confusion, which made sense. She supposed she wasn’t supposed to be worrying about his drinking habits this early into whatever the hell this was between them. Feelings? Maybe. All she knew was that there was something.

“Nothing, sorry,” she clarified quickly. “I'm just... I'm glad.”

He chuckled. “Now instead of scotch sleep I just don’t sleep at all.”

Jen didn’t speak for a long moment, thinking about what he’d said and what to do about it.  _ Self-medication is a slippery slope. Just be careful. _ She’d told him that a long time ago now, but she had no idea whether this was him actually taking her advice. “Have you been to a doctor about it?”

“It’s been addressed,” he said, surprise apparent on his face, “but don’t worry about it too much. It lets me get a lot more stuff done.”

Her arms tightened his neck as she considered. “I'd say you shouldn't have to, but I know that won't change anything. Just be careful.” She smiled just a bit. “If you're ever supposed to spend time with one of us and are too exhausted, my bed's always open for sleeping.”

He laughed. “Oh, really? You know I’m not sure I’m really being held to that anymore. Given that I may have found that I do actually like spending time with some of you.”

“Really?” she asked, smiling a bit more. “Am I included on that list?”

He shrugged and tilted his head to the side. “If you have to ask that probably means the answer is no.”

“Excuse me if I want a little confirmation.” She leaned forward, narrowing her gaze a bit. “I'll tell you if you're on my list of people I like spending time with.”

“You know, given your current position,” he said, glancing down at the paint smeared on her chest for a moment before looking back up, “I think I know where I stand.”

“Then I'm gonna take a chance and say I do as well.”

He gave her an amused look. “So then why are you so worried?”

“I wasn’t.”  _ Worried. _ Him liking her was the least of them these days, though not completely banished from her mind. She was secure enough to know that there was something between them. What, she didn’t know, but she supposed finding out was the fun part. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”

“Maybe I’m more of a person who shows things instead of saying them.” His hand moved from her waist down to slip under her shirt, and she couldn’t help her breath from catching from the feeling of them resting on her bare lower back, even if the paint would be a bitch to get off.

This was new, and she wasn’t completely sure how to feel about it. His grip against her was cautious, easy, and she knew if she’d pulled away, he wouldn’t try it again. He was good at reading the room like that. It was new, but she decided then it wasn’t bad, and she liked it more than she wanted to admit. “Maybe you should show me more.”

“Is that okay?”

And she’d been expecting the question and nervous lilt to his voice. He was confident until he just wasn’t, but that was one of the things she liked about him. He didn’t let himself get too caught up in things. “Yes, it's okay,” she confirmed, making sure to give him a reassuring smile.  _ Don’t pull away. _

“Okay.” He gave her a nod, fingers gently rubbing into her back, and she just took a moment to think about how nice it felt, how safe he felt. Even when everything was falling apart, she always felt safe with him. It was a strange feeling after everything, but one she would welcome into the mixture of all her other feelings for him. “You never did answer my question from earlier.”

Jen tried to think of what he’d said, but she had to focus on keeping her head focused on the fingers not on her back, afraid she may actually build up the nerve to tell him what she actually wanted him to do with them, that couch still close for comfort. “And what was that?”

“Exactly what you want?”

A dangerous question, especially right now. There were a lot of things she could say, a lot of things she knew she wasn’t ready for, but one thing in particular she knew she wanted. “I want you to kiss me. If you want to.”

She could see the flicker of consideration going across his face, and she wasn’t sure what it was for or what it meant, but then it didn’t matter because he was leaning down and pressing his lips to hers. She didn’t realize how much she’d missed it until that moment, her hands going to his face to hold him closer, and she could’ve escalated it like they wanted to, but the good die young. She pulled away with a smile, staring up at him with that very different kiss in the back of her mind. “I also want to paint.”

With a small smile on his face, Arin leaned forward and gave her one more soft kiss before pulling away just a moment later. “Then let’s paint.”


End file.
